


Conflict of Interest

by Telanu



Series: Nice Girls [2]
Category: Boston Legal, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanu/pseuds/Telanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate, pretty unhappy ending to Nice Girls Don't. What if Miranda hadn't been reasonable? A crossover with Boston Legal. Andy Sachs/Shirley Schmidt femslash, references to Miranda/Andy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict of Interest

Shirley sighed. "I'm sorry. He wants _how_ much?"

Miranda's lips pinched into a thin, white line. "Half my net worth."

And she'd been married for, what, a year and a half? Even for Miranda, this was pretty quick. He'd obviously married her for the money in the first place. And Miranda obviously knew it.

"But…you did have a prenup, didn't you?" Shirley said pleadingly. After all, Miranda had gone through three other divorces, none of which had proven financially catastrophic.

"Yes. Of course I did. With the same terms I set the l--" Miranda seemed to choke for a second, but recovered and finished, "the last time."

Ouch. "So…what's the problem then?"

"That IS the problem. I don't know. He says he's got some superstar attorney who can break the prenup into a million pieces, or something. And he would, he would have somebody like that, just waiting to _devour_ me." Shirley saw, with resignation, that the years had robbed Miranda of none of her flair for drama. "So I came to you," Miranda finished quietly.

"Why me? Why not, um--"

Miranda shook her head. "I need someone who knows me. He'll make me out to be some kind of monster. Well, they always try…but if I have someone on my side who, who can be my friend--" She smiled bitterly. "Friendly."

Jesus. Shirley tried very hard not to look sympathetic, because Miranda would kill her. "Gotcha," she said. "Well, consider me both friendly and a friend. A friendly friend, if you will. Um." She coughed. Miranda didn't smile. "Right. Well. If it's character witnesses you're after, then we…"

The lightbulb went on.

"…I have just the person for you to talk to," Shirley finished, the light of inspiration glowing steadily in her head. "And I think I know just where to find her. Come with me." Miranda rose from her chair, looking curious, and followed Shirley out of the office and down the corridor.

"You know her, too," Shirley said as they walked two abreast. Junior associates, paralegals, and even senior partners parted before them like the Red Sea. How sad was it, Shirley thought, that the sight of two powerful women walking together was still so rare?

"I do?" Miranda asked.

"You do," Shirley confirmed as they approached Denny's office.

"Oh, Denny Crane," Miranda said, as she read his nameplate. Then she frowned. "Shirley, I don't know him, and he is a _he."_

"Oh, she'll be in here," Shirley said, and rapped on the door firmly before striding in. She never waited for Denny to ask her to enter, since by the time his mouth opened, he'd probably forget that anybody had knocked at all.

The sight that greeted her didn't surprise her, exactly, but it did provoke the now-familiar reaction of 'Dear God, not again.'

This time, Denny was sitting on his desk, while Andy Sachs stood by the window wearing a cheese-wedge hat for the Green Bay Packers on her head.

"Miranda," Shirley said, already feeling tired, "I believe you know Andy Sachs."

Denny turned to look at them both. Andy did too. Shirley watched her face with fascination, and a sudden feeling of dread, as Andy's already-pale face went a little bit paler. The light in her eyes--whatever light her game with Denny had temporarily put there--vanished. She straightened her shoulders. Except for the cheese-shaped hat on her head, she was the very picture of dangerous dignity.

Shirley realized, then, that next to her, Miranda had also gone very still. Shirley dared to look to her side, and saw that Miranda was staring at Andy with a look of undisguised shock on her face.

Oh…shit. Well--how was Shirley supposed to have known…

She put a false brightness into her voice as she said, "What on earth are you two doing?"

Andy wore the smile Shirley hated most: a bitter, arrogant little smirk. She looked away from Miranda, and back to Shirley, as she said, "Shirley. I'm glad you're here. Perhaps you can help Denny and me resolve a pressing question."

"I'd like Shirley to resolve several of my pressing questions," Denny said, waggling his eyebrows.

"I have already had quite enough of your pressing questions, Denny," Shirley said. "Eventually it was more effort than it was worth to tell you to put your weight on your elbows." Then she winced, and dared to glance at Miranda, who was still staring at Andy with something that looked like shell-shock.

"The question, Shirley, is this," Andy said, and pointed to the cheese hat on her head. "Does this--" and then she pointed to Denny, "--make his ass look fat?"

"This is important," Denny said.

"I'm sure," Shirley said, straining for patience. "But it will have to wait. Andy, will you please remove that thing? I'd like to pretend that I work in a law firm today." Andy shrugged and obeyed, still not looking at Miranda.

"Andy," Shirley continued, "I wonder if I might borrow your expertise on my latest case--" Miranda made an incoherent, choking sound. Shirley plowed on. "Ms. Priestly has been served divorce papers by her fourth husband."

"Really," Andy said.

"Amateur," Denny muttered.

"Yes, and he wants an exorbitant amount of money," Shirley said. "Given that you and Miranda know each other--or did, once--"

"No," Miranda said, quickly and loudly. Shirley stared at her. Andy didn't. "That--won't be necessary. Her help." She was looking at Andy, who steadfastly refused to look at her in return.

"Miranda," Shirley said carefully, "Andy Sachs is one of our very best attorneys. I'm getting the feeling that you parted from her on less-than-friendly terms--" Miranda's lips puckered. "--but I assure you that you may rely on the professionalism of all our associates here at Crane, Poole, & Schmidt." She turned to look at Andy. "Isn't that right?" she asked pointedly, hoping that her this-is-a-very-wealthy-client voice was coming through loud and clear.

"Shirley," Andy said with a mean little smile, "you may rely on my professionalism as much as you ever have."

Oh shit, again. "Andy," Shirley said, and then changed her mind and said, "Miranda--"

"I'll see you Thursday," Miranda said, "at two." She turned around and--well, she didn't run, exactly, but she was definitely power-walking towards the exit.

Andy didn't look after her. Denny did, though, with his eyebrows raised. After a few long moments, Shirley finally looked at Andy.

"Oh…hell," Shirley said.

 

* * *

 

She couldn't just let it go, of course. One look at Andy's face had told Shirley that Andy wouldn't talk about it then. Or in front of Denny. Andy obviously didn't want to talk about it at all. But she'd have to. And she knew it. Whatever had happened at _Runway_ all those years ago was about to come to light, because it might affect the firm, and whatever affected the firm was Shirley Schmidt's business come hell or high water.

"We'll discuss this tomorrow morning," she'd said to Andy before leaving Denny's office.

"I predicted as much," Andy had replied. Her face had been completely blank.

But now Shirley wasn't sure she could wait for tomorrow morning. Andy Sachs was, had always been, an incomprehensible mystery to her. That was part of her allure, part of what drew Shirley to her much against her own better judgment, to say nothing of her sexual orientation. She wouldn't be able to sleep until she knew what had happened, and there was no use wasting a perfectly good night's sleep, so she might as well know the worst of it now.

That's what she told herself as she stopped by Andy's office at ten-thirty that night, when almost everyone else had gone home. Andy's door was open, and her Italian leather briefcase (she'd always had impeccable taste) rested on the floor by her desk. So she was still around, but not inside. Shirley knew where she'd be, of course. She wondered if she'd be able to persuade Andy to leave Denny's side for the evening, just this once, and talk. She had to understand the need for it.

So Shirley did what she dreaded doing most: headed for Denny Crane's office. His door was open, too. She'd really have to speak to him about that. It was one thing for Andy to leave her thousand-dollar-briefcase lying around; if she wanted somebody to walk off with it, that was her business. It was another thing for Denny to leave his office unlocked when it contained several thousand dollars' worth of firearms.

She entered Denny's office and headed for the door that led to the balcony. He and Andy sat out there every night, even in the bitterest cold, drinking scotch and smoking cigars. Andy looked surprisingly natural with a cigar in her mouth, Shirley had discovered. And oddly appealing.

Shirley had expected to interrupt the usual friendly gibing, or bickering about politics, or half-nonsensical repartee, or even a profound silence that said more than words ever could about Andy and Denny's friendship. She did not expect to come to the doorway of the balcony and see Andy Sachs standing at the railing, her back turned even to Denny as she hid her face in her hands, while her shoulders shook with deep, wracking sobs. Denny, for his part, faced the other way, puffed on his cigar, and pretended not to see anything. Neither of them had noticed Shirley at all.

Heart pounding unpleasantly, fingers and toes tingling, and blood--frankly--running cold, Shirley turned around and stole away.

A sleepless night it was, then.

 

* * *

 

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"I think I have to."

"Fine. But you asked for it."

Andy stared out the window, holding her glass of scotch in one hand, resting the other on her hip. Shirley leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands. Now that the moment had arrived--now that Andy was finally opening up--she felt strangely apprehensive. She was not, in fact, sure that she wanted to hear this.

"Miranda Priestly and I had--I don't know what you'd call it," Andy said, not turning to face Shirley. "I suppose 'an affair' would be the closest term."

Shirley should not have been surprised. But she was. She was rocked to the core. "An affair?" she repeated numbly.

It made sense, of course. The way Andy had always refused to talk about the year she spent at _Runway_. The way she'd reacted when she saw Miranda again. The way she'd wept on Denny's balcony last night, as if her heart was breaking, thinking herself unseen by anyone but Denny.

And of course, her attraction to Shirley: another wealthy, powerful, older woman. Shirley shuddered.

"Yes," Andy said. "Well. A one-night stand, anyway. Maybe that's closer."

"What happened?" Shirley whispered.

Andy still didn't turn around. "I hope you're sitting comfortably," she said.

"You'd better believe it," Shirley replied.

"Fine," Andy said, and heaved a sigh. "As you know, I worked at _Runway_ for nearly a year after I graduated from college. What you might not know, though maybe you've guessed, is that I did not always want to be a lawyer. No. I wanted to be a journalist. Uncover the truth, work tirelessly in the pursuit of the good." She gestured with her empty hand. "All that sort of thing. You know. Hopeless idealism. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

Shirley had seen enough of Andy's heart, by now, to know that her desire to do good, to protect the helpless, lived on in full force. But she'd never, ever been remotely idealistic, to say nothing of 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.' Her cynicism had always seemed to be an utterly fundamental part of her nature.

"So, I deferred my acceptance to law school, and came to New York to find work at a newspaper," Andy continued. "Nothing worked out. I got no interviews. Finally, this position came my way: being a personal assistant to the editor-in-chief of _Runway_ magazine. Getting coffee for a fashion queen wasn't exactly my ideal job, but I had it on good authority that it would open a lot of doors for me. They told me: one year at _Runway,_ and you can write your own ticket to any magazine in town. It was too good to pass up." Shirley nodded, though Andy couldn't see her.

"I lived with a guy, then," Andy said, and finally glanced back, giving Shirley an amused smile. "Oh, yes. Nate Greene. My boyfriend from college. I was crazy about him. I hadn't yet discovered the wonders of breasts." Shirley managed a smile, and Andy looked back out the window. "But then I met Miranda."

She took a swig of her scotch. "You've probably heard the stories about how she treats her employees. They're all true. But there was something so compelling, so seductive about her. I was attracted to her, and I didn't even understand what I was feeling. You know…crazy about a boy, and all that." She sighed. "Anyway. To make a long story short, I fell in love with her. And in her way, she fell in love with me. But she was married, and we both knew, we both agreed that nothing could happen." Her voice became ripe with bitter amusement. "The stuff of soap operas, I'm sure you'll agree."

Shirley cleared her throat. "Andy," she began. "I had no idea--"

Andy held up a hand. "Of course you didn't, Shirley. No one does. Even Denny doesn't know." She turned around again, and gave Shirley a sharp look. "I trust you're going to let me be the one to tell him. In my own time."

"Of course," Shirley said.

Andy regarded her for a long moment; then she nodded, and sat down on her desk. She was facing Shirley now, but she kept staring down into her glass of scotch.

"So what happened?" Shirley pressed again.

Andy pressed her lips together. "Her husband left her. For…unrelated reasons. She came to me. We had one night together." Andy closed her eyes, and this time, her smile was so sad that it broke Shirley's own heart. "I'm not going to lie to you, Shirley. Don't take this the wrong way, but it was the best sex I've ever had, or will have--not because we were both incredibly skilled, or anything. But because I loved her. I loved her so much, and it felt like we'd been waiting forever."

Shirley swallowed hard, but she couldn't get rid of the lump in her throat.

"Anyway," Andy said, her voice almost a whisper now, "as you have probably noticed, I am not the kind of girl who sleeps with her boss, and then goes to pick up her dry cleaning." She opened her eyes and gave Shirley a wry smile. Shirley nodded speechlessly. "It never occurred to me that Miranda wouldn't understand this. Oh, it should have, I know--but, like I said, I was in love. Blind and stupid. It was my fault, really. I should never have let it happen in the first place. I should never even have let her know how I felt about her. It was just asking for trouble."

"This was ten years ago?" Shirley asked, though she knew the answer. Ten years ago. Andy would have been twenty-three. Practically a child.

"Yes," Andy said. "You'd think it would be water under the bridge by now, wouldn't you?"

Shirley moistened her lips. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but why aren't you a journalist?"

"Can't you guess?" Andy said. "I told her I wanted to quit my job. I told her I wanted to be with her, but I couldn't do that and work for her, too. She said that if I quit, she'd ruin me; that I'd never get a job anywhere else." She looked at Shirley. Shirley quickly snapped her mouth shut, aware that her jaw had sagged open. "That's what love means to her, you know. She needs to keep people. To own them. Well, and she was under a lot of pressure; her husband was leaving her, there was talk of replacing her at the magazine. I think she couldn't bear the thought of losing me, too. So she went to all the lengths she could to prevent me. It came from love. Well. Her idea of love."

Shirley opened her mouth again, but Andy kept talking. "She delivered her ultimatum, and I got angry. I told her I'd go to law school before I let her blackmail me into staying with her. She didn't believe me, and I didn't believe her, and when I started pounding the pavement, all the doors slammed in my face. I couldn't so much as get a job at _The Star."_

Shirley leaned back against the couch, feeling queasy. "She blackballed you?"

"Yes, Shirley," Andy said, sounding impatient at how slow Shirley was on the uptake. "I guess she thought I'd have no choice but to come back to her. But I couldn't. I _couldn't._ So. I lost my dream, and I lost the girl, and I went to law school at Stanford, and here I am today." She spread her arms wide and gave Shirley her fakest smile. "Torpedoing anybody you send me after, in the halls of Crane, Poole  & Schmidt."

"Oh my God," Shirley whispered. "Andy."

Andy shrugged, and finished off her scotch in a single swig. The ice bumped up against her lips, clacked against her teeth. "She probably did me a favor. I'm making a hell of a lot more money this way. And I always wanted to own a Corvette."

"I'm going to be sick," Shirley said.

Andy shrugged again. "It's your carpet-cleaning bill, not mine," she said. She set her glass aside. "You sure you don't want a drink?"

"Positive," Shirley said. "I'm pretty sure that wouldn't help."

"I guess not." Andy gave her another bitter smile. "Anyway, there it is. My big secret. As juicy as you thought it would be?"

"Jesus," Shirley said. _"Andy."_

"You remember when you said men didn't get over you?" Andy said. "And I said I'd already met the woman I'd never get over?"

"Miranda Priestly," Shirley said in disbelief.

"Miranda Priestly," Andy confirmed. "I mean, I didn't know that at the time. But ten years later, and…" Her voice trailed off. She made a 'tsk'ing sound.

"That's why you didn't want to transfer to New York."

It wasn't a question, but Andy said, "Yes," anyway.

Shirley looked down at her knees. "You must care for Denny very much."

"Denny Crane is my best friend," Andy said, sounding tired. "I don't know how many times I have to say that before people start believing it's true. I wasn't going to abandon him."

Shirley rubbed her hands over her face.

"Shirley, it was a long time ago," Andy said. "In spite of what I just said, I'm a different person now."

"I believe you," Shirley said, and she looked at Andy again. Andy's large brown eyes were sad and regretful--but still sharp. There was nothing soft in them, or warm and giving. There never had been, in the year Shirley had known her, in the months they'd been sleeping together. Andy's full, wide lips never parted in an uninhibited, happy smile. Andy kept her hair, flecked with silver, bound up behind her head in a tight bun, which she only let down in bed.

Shirley tried to imagine her as she must have been ten years ago: bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Idealistic. With her energy, her drive, her ambition, all turned to the service of a cause greater than herself. My God, Shirley thought, she would have been incredible. And she felt a surge of hatred towards Miranda Priestly that was so fierce it nearly took her breath away.

"Yes," Shirley repeated. "I believe you."

"Good," Andy said. "And to answer the question you have not yet asked: no, I will not tell anyone. You don't have to worry about this damaging the case. I'd never do that. Never."

Shirley closed her eyes. "When you said," she began, "that…it was an error in judgment on your part."

"Surely you don't disagree," Andy said.

"Can you hear yourself?" Shirley snapped, opening her eyes again, and pinning Andy with a glare. Andy's own eyes widened in surprise. "Were you listening to yourself?"

"Shirley?"

"'It was my fault. I led her on. I made her do it. She only did it because she loved me.'" Shirley leaned forward. "This really doesn't sound familiar? _How_ many battered and abused women have you represented? How many have I?"

Andy barked out a laugh. "You must be joking."

"I am not. Not at all."

Andy rolled her eyes. "You're calling me a battered woman?"

"In a word: yes." Shirley rose to her feet. "She didn't beat you up. But she ruined a career you wanted and worked hard for. She took advantage of you from her position of authority--" Andy opened her mouth. Shirley held up her hand. "No, no. It's my turn now. This woman runs an influential magazine. She's worth millions. She can do almost anything she wants. And you were her assistant, just barely out of college, and somehow _you_ are at fault for wanting your independence?"

Andy shrugged irritably. "Okay, Shirley. Fine. You can set up the Andy Sachs's Innocence Memorial Shelter any day you want. It doesn't matter whose fault it was. All that's over and done with now."

"Is it?" Shirley asked. "You already said you'll never get over her."

"So?" Andy said. Shirley stared at her in disbelief. "It doesn't mean I don't have a life, Shirley. It doesn't even mean I don't enjoy my life." She gave Shirley the little I'm- _almost_ -fond-of-you smile, the one she hardly ever gave anybody but Denny. "I enjoy many things about my life." She reached out and took Shirley by the hand. "Including you. Let me ask you something: are you worried that you're some kind of substitute for her?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Shirley said.

"You're not," Andy said. "I'm going to ask you to trust me on this." Then she smiled. "There can only be one Schmidt."

"You're damn right," Shirley said, and managed to smile in return. "I suppose I should try and find it in my heart to be grateful."

"Damn right," Andy said in her own turn. "That experience made me what I am today." Empty, Shirley thought. "Effective," Andy said. "I wondered if I could hack it in law school, in that cutthroat environment. But after _Runway,_ it was a piece of cake. The minute I walked through the door, I caught myself thinking, 'WWMD'? Which is not, actually, 'Wow, Weapons of Mass Destruction,' but 'What Would Miranda Do'? Though I acknowledge the concepts are similar." She chuckled mirthlessly. "It was remarkably effective at helping me step on anybody who got in my way."

Shirley bowed her head in acknowledgement. "A gift I have often found to be very useful to the firm."

"Indeed." Andy squeezed Shirley's hand and let go of it. To Shirley's surprise, her voice was almost hesitant when she added, "Shirley…I hope this doesn't change anything. Between us."

Shirley gave her a tight smile. "Of course not. How could it?" Their arrangement was, after all, only about sex. It wasn't even friends-with-benefits, because they weren't really friends. Andy didn't have any friends except Denny, and, true to form, he left no room for anybody else.

"So we're still on for dinner and debauchery tomorrow night?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Shirley said. "You want me to bring the strap-on?"

Andy pressed her hand to her breast, and her eyes half-closed in bliss. Shirley grinned in spite of herself and turned to leave. But before she left, she made sure nobody was watching, just so she could pinch Andy's ass on the way out of the door.

 

* * *

 

Shirley had half-expected that Miranda wouldn't even show up for their meeting the following afternoon. But at two o'clock precisely, Miranda was waiting for her in the conference room, alone, staring at her hands on the table.

Shirley closed the conference room door behind her, and sat down across from Miranda. She folded her own hands and silently regarded Miranda's bowed, silver head.

"She told you," Miranda said.

"She did," Shirley said.

Miranda's shoulders sagged a little.

"As a lawyer, I'm curious," Shirley said. "Have you anything to say in your own defense?"

"I've never explained myself to anyone," Miranda said. "I'm not about to start now. I'm surprised she did."

"I asked her to," Shirley said. "I needed to know if whatever happened between the two of you might adversely affect our case, should it come to light."

"Yes," Miranda said. "Yes, I think I can state unequivocally that it would." She traced her fingertip over the smooth glass surface of the table.

"Andy has stated that she has no desire to tell anyone," Shirley said, trying to speak over the disgusting taste in her mouth. "And that, in fact, besides me, she never has told anyone. Have you?"

"No," Miranda said softly. "I suppose…I wanted to forget it ever happened."

Shirley clenched her hands together. "I'm sure," she said. "Of course, given that she was forced to undertake an entire career change, Andy has not been so fortunate."

Miranda looked up at her. Her eyes were glassy. "I didn't say it worked," she said, her voice thick.

Cry, you bitch, Shirley thought. I dare you.

But Miranda didn't cry. "It's almost a relief that someone else knows," she said. "I almost wish it would come to light. Isn't that strange? When I saw her again--" She stopped herself abruptly.

"That's for you and your new lawyer to decide," Shirley said. "I only hope that, for once, you will actually take Andy's feelings on the matter into account. She does not want this made known."

Miranda looked at her for a long moment. "My new lawyer," she said eventually.

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding one," Shirley said, and added, "unless, of course, you look within Crane, Poole, & Schmidt. Anyone here who so much as touches your divorce with a ten-foot-pole will quickly find themselves pushing paper and offering counsel to used car salesmen in the Bronx. Unless they are offering their services to your soon-to-be-ex husband. Which I am tempted to do myself. Pro bono."

"You and I have known each other for fifteen years," Miranda said.

"Yes," Shirley said. "So when we met, Andy Sachs would have been, what, eighteen?" Miranda bowed her head again. "And five years after our initial acquaintance--"

"Shirley--"

"--you were taking advantage of a twenty-three-year old junior employee's feelings for you. So actually, I would say I didn't really know you at all. That's probably a good thing for you, considering the way I feel right now."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "You have a fairly high opinion of your powers, don't you?"

"I might say the same of you," Shirley said. "Oh, I'm sure you have plenty to be proud of. You took over a magazine and have been remarkably successful at running it. But this law firm did not exist before I came along. You see that name on our letterhead? 'Crane, Poole, & Schmidt.'" She narrowed her own eyes. "I'm Schmidt. And _Runway_ isn't subtitled 'Priestly.' Nor does it have ten international offices."

"I'm really trying to work out if you are attempting to threaten me or not," Miranda said.

"I'm not," Shirley said. "I don't have to." What was she trying to do? Have some kind of pissing contest? To what end? It wasn't like they were actually in competition for anything. They'd both already lost the prize, and Shirley, unfairly, hadn't even known the contest was on until too late.

Well, there might have been one winner. She'd never thought she'd actually believe this, but thank God for Denny Crane. He'd found something human remaining in Andrea Sachs, and had saved it. He brought out the best in her. Denny--addled, selfish, eccentric, possibly crazy Denny--safeguarded Andy from herself. She'd always been her own worst enemy.

"Well." Miranda picked up her bag from the table. "It certainly didn't take you long to start hating me."

"I don't hate you," Shirley said. "I despise you. Look it up in the dictionary. There's a difference."

Miranda's glare was downright savage. "Quit while you're ahead, _Schmidt,"_ she hissed.

"Oh, no. That's the worst time to quit," Shirley said. "And for the record, my feelings towards you are actually more complicated. I don't just despise you. I pity you; you lost the companionship and respect of an extraordinary person. And more than that, I am grateful to you." She moved in for the kill. "Your loss was my gain. I appreciate that."

Miranda blinked, frowned, and then went pale.

"Oh, yes," Shirley said quietly. "She's really something, isn't she? As I'm sure you remember."

Miranda stood up so quickly that her chair fell backwards. "Well," she said. "She certainly has a type, doesn't she?"

"I would like you to leave this office," Shirley said calmly, remaining seated. "And not to return."

Miranda looked her dead in the eye. "She doesn't love you," she said flatly.

Shirley inhaled deeply before she could stop herself. Miranda's lip curled in triumph.

"Miranda," Shirley said, "for the record: I don't hit like a girl."

"I'm sure." Miranda stuck her nose in the air and headed for the door. "And for the record: _I_ don't ruin my manicure. For anything or anyone."

"Are you even sorry?" Shirley blurted. Oh, god damn it. She was having real issues with impulse-control today.

Miranda stopped at the door. She didn't look at Shirley, but Shirley, for a very brief moment, saw her hand tremble on the door handle. Then, without a backwards glance, she was gone.

Shirley closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

 

* * *

 

"It's a stupid thing, romantic love," Denny mused, puffing on his cigar.

"Oh, I don't know," Andy said, drawing on her own. "It hasn't done me any favors. But I'm sure it has its place with some people."

"Don't get soft on me," Denny said. "Or wishy-washy. Not that you can help yourself. You're a liberal; wishy-washy is part of the package. As is flip-flopping. My point is--" He paused, and frowned.

"Romantic love," Andy prompted delicately, taking a sip of scotch.

"Right," Denny said. "I'm seventy-two years old, I've been married six times, and I can tell you, uncategorically, that I have no more use for romantic love. Friendship. That's where it's at." He gave Andy a sidelong glance. "Now that…that's the finest sort of love there is."

"I couldn't agree more," Andy said, and puffed again, looking out at the glittering city spread out before her.

After a few more silent moments, Denny said, "So, are you gonna tell me what happened with the old broad?"

Andy smiled. "In my own time, yes, I think so. Was that what all the 'friendship' talk was leading up to?"

"No," Denny said, sounding genuinely offended.

Andy offered him a quick, apologetic glance. "Of course not. I'm sorry, Denny. The past couple of days have just left me feeling a little…raw." Neither of them said anything about the tears she'd shed on this very balcony two nights ago.

"Best remedy for that?" Denny said. "Nimmo Bay."

Andy tilted her head back and expelled a stream of smoke into the night air. "That sounds perfect."

"This weekend?"

"I think I can manage that."

Denny took a drink. "She had a great ass."

"Yes," Andy agreed. "Yes, she did, didn't she?"

"Not as great as mine, though. Even with the cheese hat."

"I'm telling you, it had a slimming effect. Why don't you believe me?"

"Liberal," Denny muttered. "Say any bleeding-heart hippie thing to make people feel good about themselves."

"Lawyers are known for that, yes," came a voice from the balcony doorway. Denny and Andy turned around to see Shirley, stepping forward to join them.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Swimmingly," Andy said. She and Shirley regarded each other; Denny regarded both of them.

"You two are still just screwing, right?" he said.

"When the world gained you as its top attorney, Denny," Andy said, "it lost a magnificent poet."

Shirley ignored Denny, and looked at Andy, point-blank. "I've dropped Miranda's case," she said. "And told her to look elsewhere for counsel. I can't believe I have to say this, but please stay out of it."

Andy looked down at her cigar. "Is that an order?"

Shirley swallowed. "No. Given how well you normally respond to those…no, it isn't."

"Fine," Andy said, and smiled. Shirley exhaled slowly, and nodded.

"Andy and I are going to Nimmo Bay this weekend," Denny said. "Get in touch with nature. Walk around in streams and wear flannel and stuff like that."

"I'm sure you'll have a lovely time," Shirley said. "Catch and release a fish for me, Denny. I'm sure it will prove oddly symbolic in some way. Andy--we are still on for tonight?"

"Eight p.m. sharp," Andy said.

"Let me watch just once," Denny said pleadingly. "Or at least make a tape. C'mon, Andy, be a pal. Shirley--for old times' sake."

"Denny, you get more disturbing every time you open your mouth," Shirley said.

"Agreed," Andy said, looking positively delighted by this. "You're disgusting, Denny."

"Don't try to butter me up," Denny grumped, and stuck his cigar back in his mouth.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Shirley said. "I'll see you at eight, Andy."

Andy moved her mouth suggestively around the cigar tip. Shirley blinked, blushed, and smiled in that order as she left.

"That woman really does do lovely things to my nether regions," Andy said when Shirley was out of hearing distance.

"Tell me about it," Denny said, and added, "in detail."

"Another time, maybe."

"You _are_ just screwing, right?"

"Of course," Andy said, but she sounded uncertain.

Denny looked at her for a long moment. "Well," he said with a sigh, "you'd better ask me to be your best man, is all I'm saying."

Andy grinned around her cigar. "I'd never ask anybody else."

"It's no wonder she went gay for you, you know. Once you've had Denny Crane, no other man will do."

"I always knew that," Andy said solemnly. She held up her glass of scotch, and Denny raised his. They clinked them together, and drank deep.

**Fin.**

 

 


End file.
